Reckless Chances
by Whisper-of-Warning
Summary: Clarissa Fray doesn't really know where her life is going but it's not bad. That is until her mother disappears and the super hot new guy at school happens to be a hundred year old Prince from the past. Did she mention he's also a cursed Prince? Soon Clary finds herself in the mist of a war where she is the key to unlocking Jace's spell and saving the world. No pressure. Right?
1. Prologue

**I know what you're thinking. . .what the heck is she doing? She just keeps starting stories and never finishing them! I know, I know. But when inspiration strikes you have to write it down you know?**

 **Bear with me, okay?**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, please don't make me say it again.**

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Sweat drenched his face as he slumped forward with exhaustion. His arms were bound to the wall behind in by cuffs of iron and steel, making the soft skin of his wrist blister and redden. His hair was limp from the amount of moisture it had absorbed and his heart was beating much like a rabbit's. The sound of expensive shoes clicked the floor as his captor came forward. A laugh echoed through the stone-walled room, a laugh full of bloody and tortuous promises. Air wheezed past his teeth as his rib cage ached, bruises pasted to his body like tattoos and stickers. Each ached and throbbed with every breath. Air was the one thing he needed to continue and it was the one thing that was causing him so much pain. A hand curled around his hair and pulled his head up. His legs had all but given out and his wrists screamed in agony as the weight of his body were rested upon them.

"We play this game...you and I." The man said in a sophisticated voice. He spoke with a cool drawl, with an accent that wasn't quite German or quite Russian. It was something close to the middle of the two; his breath fanned the prisoner's face and he weakly tried to move his head away but the hand to his hair only tighten. His scalp burned as the roots of his hair were being pulled tighter and farther from their home on his head. "It would be a shame to break your pretty face anymore than I have to. But it doesn't have to be this way." He released his head and the prisoner's head lobbed back down. He used the only energy he had left to lift it and meet his captor's black eyes. The man before him had no pupils; his whole eye was consumed by a blackness that no doubt lied in his heart. "See? We don't have to do this. All you have to do is tell me where the girl is and you're free to go."

The prisoner laughed, though he was in no position to. It was a velvety sound, beautiful and melodic, that immediately made the tension in the room increase drastically. "What? And we part as unlikely friends?" He shook his head, sweat droplets falling from each strand of hair. "Now, you're just hurting my feelings. Do you take me for an idiot?"

The man smiled coolly, it made the air around them icy cold. "I would never . . . to insult a Prince? Never," His tone was mocking and the boy narrowed his eyes. The man, with the onyx eyes, grabbed the boy by the face roughly and pulled him closer. "This is not your kingdom and I am not your servant."

The boy laughed again and threw his head back for extra effect as he dislodged the man's hold on him. "But the title remains the same, does it not? I will always be a Prince and you will always be my servant."

The man brought his hand down harshly against the boy's face. The sound of skin meeting skin was echoed throughout the room. The mockery that had resigned in the man's dead eyes had left as a hot flare of anger came and disappeared. "Where is the girl?"

The prisoner spit at the man's feet. His shoes, that had once been shiny due to waxing, were shining because of blood now. "I just told you 5 minutes ago, I don't know who you're talking about. My knowledge and answer still hasn't changed from the last time you asked that question."

A flicker of anger took over the captor's face before he smiled and took a step forward. "The girl of the prophecy. The one who will rain fire down from the heavens." The prisoner's face remained blank, the description obviously having no effect on him. "Where is she?"

The prisoner smiled, his teeth covered with gore. "I don't know." He said it slowly as if talking to a toddler, who wasn't listening. He would never say, he would die first.

The captor smiled as he ran a large hand down his tailored suit as if it weren't covered in the prisoner's blood already. He walked slowly to the table in the middle of the room. On it sat an assortment of instruments that no one had seen in ages, things that no one even knew existed. The man went for none of the fancy looking weapons on the table; instead he grabbed a simple dagger. He ran his thumb gently over the dagger's blade and it sliced into his skin as if it were paper. "Do you know what people use to do in Salem Massachusetts? When they thought someone was a witch but they wouldn't confess?" The prisoner remained silent as the man smiled. His white teeth glowed in the darkness of the room. It seemed funny; he was the lightest thing in all the darkness and yet he was the one who was causing it. "No? Well, let me enlighten you." He brought the blade to the prisoner's chest and as the boy heaved the tip of the dagger cut the skin over his fast beating heart. "They would set a flame, drown, and torture them into submission. If the person who was set on fire did not burn, they were a witch. If they did not drown, they were a witch. But before each ritual each person would plead for their lives and say whatever it was that their accuser wanted to hear."

The blade inched closer and the prisoner had to hold his breath to keep the knife from plunging into his heart. "I like to think of myself as an old fashioned man. I like to stick to traditions, even if they aren't my own." He grinned again; his straight teeth looked like fangs as he brought his face closer to the prisoner's. "I will ask you one more time and do remember I am not a patient man." He moved the blade away and the boy sucked in a large breath he had been holding. His lungs screamed in relief and his chest ached from the bruises he had just received early. Blood ran in tiny drops down his chest and spattered to the floor. "Where is the girl?"

For a moment the prisoner could hear absolutely everything. He could hear the blood that was rushing through his veins; he could feel his muscles shriek in pain. He heard his heart beating clear in his ears as if it had been ripped out and placed by the side of his head. He listened as the blade in his captor's hand, so sharp, cut through air as he lifted it and placed it against the boy's chest. He felt the shallow wound as it began to open, the skin tearing like butter. The hilt of the blade shined brightly through the dark space as a ray of moon light shined through a far window in the cold room. The captor's black eyes waited anxiously for the answer as the boy met his gaze.

"I don't know. And even if I did, I would never tell you."

The blade cut down his torso, skin splitting open like a banana peel and with it came a fiery hot pain. Blood poured from his body and soaked the floor as the man's shoes became saturated with it. But still, they remained just as shiny as when he had first walked in.

"Sir!" A man in black stepped into the enclosed space. He didn't give a wayward glance at the boy who was struggling for death to consume him. "We've found the girl."

The man smiled and pulled his dagger from the boy's body with a tug. The boy let out a scream and felt his body start to tremble. "It would seem that I don't require your services anymore, Prince." He brought the blade up high above his head.

The boy laughed, fighting his way to consciousness as his eyes dropped closed. Pain vibrated through his body like electricity. "I welcome death."

The man stopped as he studied the boy's handsome, fearless face. He glanced at the guard who he gave a nod to and scurried out. He smiled before lowering his blade. "I might have use for you after all." He grinned wide and sick. "There are worst things than death, dear boy."

The boy's nostrils flared as he swallowed. "I would never help you. A prince does not offer his hand in assistance to dirt." He said it purely to make the man angry. He succeeded.

"Once I'm done with you, dear Prince." His voice was a hiss. The prisoner choked and gagged on the blood that was free flowing from his mouth and body. The pain was intense as wave after wave of torture and torment hit him. "You won't even remember whom the servant was and whom the prince was."

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He took a shuttering breath, the amount of pain his body ached from was intense but he couldn't remember why. His eyes searched the area around him with the curiosity of a cat, his pupils landed on a table in the center of the room. On that table, the only thing covered in blood, was a single dagger. He glanced down at himself, dried blood covered him like a second skin, though he had no clue how it had come to be there. He reeked of body odor and iron as he wrinkled his nose against the scent. He could smell the fresh and cold wind as it rattled the small window to his left. He walked forward with careful steps, his whole body screaming in protest. His legs were shaking from the effort and he had to grab the wall to keep steady. His fingernails were broken and dirty; he slowly squatted on the floor to run a finger down the claw marks that had indented themselves in his cell.

Who was he?

His hands skimmed his skin, his ribs clearly showing. Well, he knew he was a man but what was his name? Did he have one?

He stared up in the washing of moonlight that poured through the small strip of window. Outside he could hear birds calling out to one another and the rustling of the trees as the wind pushed against them. He heard the digging of animals underground and the slow steady beat of his heart.

"Ah, you're awake." The teen turned and looked in the entrance of his cell. "I was afraid after what happened that you wouldn't be coming back to us." The man before him wore a tailored suit with a crisp white button down underneath, his shoes clicked on the floor as he approached. His teeth were a brilliant white and his eyes were so brown, one would have mistaken them as black. The boy frowned, this all seemed too familiar. But he couldn't place a finger on it. The well dressed man pulled him into a hug and for some reason; the boy thought it would be wrong to return the gesture. "I was so worried that we lost you, my son."

The boy blinked and focused on the man in front of him. He studied him closely and frowned in confusion. "Father?"

The man nodded with a sweet smile. It seemed forced on his face, like the muscles of his mouth had never done it before. "Yes, my boy. It's me."

"What's happened to me, Father? I can't remember anything?" The teen let out a shaky breath as the man took hold of his shoulders. "And why am I in a cell?" He asked suspiciously.

"It was awful, my boy. I was going to bestow the crown to you but a woman cursed you before you could gain your rightful place as the head of our kingdom." This sounded false and fictitious.

The boy frowned. "I am a prince?"

The man's brown eyes twinkled with excitement. "Yes, you are my son and I am the King." He laughed as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "It seems only fitting, does it not?"

The boy nodded absentmindedly. None of this was getting any clearer in his mind. Everything seemed so abstract; he just needed something concrete to focus on. "But why am I in this cell?"

"After you were cursed you were a danger and threat to everyone." He pulled his gaze to his son's. A sadness laid in his eyes as the man took a breath. "You went out of control and savage. Your poor mother tried to stop you but…" He let his voice trail off in agony.

The boy blinked, dread flooded his stomach as he bent over because of the pain. "You mean…I…" He trailed off the question as the man brought his gaze back to him and nodded.

His mother, his sweet mother; he could remember a flash of her now, her sweeping blonde hair, shiny and silky, like a waterfall and a smile that could brighten even the darkest of rooms. She had been beautiful and her own creation had killed her. Tears gathered in the boy's eyes for a woman he could only remember little of. His mind may have known little but his heart knew more and took the loss hard. "Why can't I remember anything?"

The boy turned frantically to his father as the man sadly shook his head. "It's part of the curse I assume." A tear rolled down the boy's cheek as his father grabbed his face. "But fear not, we have found the key to breaking this wretched curse. I have searched and searched and found a seer whose power has seen the future to breaking your enchantment."

The boy looked up fast, hope flared in his heart though it felt fake somehow. "What must I do?"

The man smiled, not a sweet smile but a finalizing one. "You must bring this girl." He held up a picture of a smiling teen, no older than he was, beside her sat two others but they had been crossed out and her head had been circled in red. "She is the central cause for all your problems but she is also the key to making it all disappear."

The boy studied the girl a moment before looking back up at his father. "I will bring the girl, Father. I will make you proud." This was just the thing he needed to focus on, the girl, concrete and simple.

"I know you will, my boy." The teen nodded in head in respect as the man gestured for him to follow. "Oh and there is one more thing. The time is not as you have once known it to be."

The boy blinked. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two hundred and eighty six years, my boy."

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 **Review**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, please don't make me say it again.**

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"So, do you really think this will work?" Clary asked as she stepped closer to her mother, who had a large drawer weighed on her shoulder.

"Of course! It's fool proof." Jocelyn smiled brightly at her daughter, her dark red hair was piled high in a ponytail on her head and little stray pieces of curls hung around her temples. A stripe of paint ran down her mother's cheek from when she had touched it with her painted covered fingers.

Clary grinned back at her. "Yeah, I'm sure the part where we leave these giant drawers to dry outside is a good idea but how are we supposed to get them down there?"

Jocelyn leaned over the railing of their upstairs apartment. She glanced at her daughter and the large drawer she was struggling to hold up before shaking her head. "You're right. With the amount balance you have, you're never going to make it down there in one piece."

Clary rolled her eyes, the smile from before still in place. "Oh, you mean the lack of balance that I inherited from you?"

 _Not the only thing I inherited from you._

Her mother was a born and breed Irish/Belgium girl. Her skin was the color of white porcelain, like a toy doll; her hair a dark and lustrous red, curly and untamable; and her eyes were a deep and captivating green. She had an air about her that held superiority, though her mother was a kind and compassionate woman, and she held her head up high like a scornful queen. Her mother had a beauty meant for royalty.

Clary had gotten some of those things in the gene pool.

Hair? Check.

Eyes? Check.

Beauty meant for royalty? Not so much.

Jocelyn waved her off her comment with a painted-coated hand. "No, you got that from your father. " She looked over her shoulder to grin at her daughter, who shook her head with a laugh.

It was just a normal day for the Fray's as anything else. Outside the autumn season had rolled in and the hot summer season had rolled out. As Clary was helping her mother, anything to keep from doing her Calculus and A.P Psychology homework, she thought about what it would have been like if they had stayed with her dad. She didn't like to think of her father much, he had been a cruel man and that was all she truly needed to remember.

Leaving her mother to struggle on her own, Clary flopped onto her bed. Napoleon lay next to her with his tail thumping and his tongue hanging out in excitement. She rolled on to her side to hug him and pet him behind the ears. Napoleon bowed his head and closed his mouth as she scratched him. "You've got the life, don't you buddy?" She said as she kissed the side of his head and he moved quickly to swipe his tongue against her face. She crinkled her nose and wiped a hand to get all the spit off. She laughed as he leaned over to kiss her some more. "Okay, okay." She laughed out loud as Napoleon leaned closer to her, his nose getting by her clamped arms and touching her cheek. "I love you too, Napoleon."

The sound of pots clanging brought Napoleon's head up and body rocketing off the bed. Clary could hear her mother's voice from the kitchen. "Yes, I'm cooking chicken liver for you, Napoleon. Because that's what you do for people you love."

Clary laughed and made her way into the kitchen, suddenly a little hungry herself. The horrible smell of chicken liver hung high in their kitchen and Clary plugged her nose before opening the fridge. "Remind me to never use that pan again."

Jocelyn laughed as she brought the "food" in the saucepan to a boil. The smell only getting stronger the longer they cooked. "Oh, it's not that bad. Your grandma use to love them. And they're not bad for you, in fact there extremely good for you and look," Her mother popped one of the half-cooked livers in Napoleon's mouth. The black dog ate it swiftly, swallowing it whole and waiting in attention for the next one. "Napoleon just loves them. What more convincing do you need?"

Clary wrinkled her nose and put the apple, she had picked up from the fridge, back down again. "And there goes my appetite." She mumbled before turning to her mother. "Napoleon also loves to eat other questionable things and the leaves off the fake plants in the living room. I really don't think I'll be taking food advice from him."

Her mother shrugged. "Alright, but don't come crying to me when you're body starts shutting down because of your eating habits."

Clary laughed out loud. "What you mean my constant consuming of apples all day, since that's all we have in this entire house? That bad eating habit?"

Though Clary did have a weakness for ice cream, it was sick really.

"We have much more than just…" Jocelyn trailed off as her daughter held open the fridge for her. Much of the shelves inside remained bare except for the condiments, which they had plenty of. At least, Clary knew that if she was ever starving to death, she would always have mustard and mayo handy. "Apples. Hmm, I guess it's time I went grocery shopping huh?"

"It's long overdue." Clary said with an agreeing nod.

Jocelyn nodded too before turning her attention back to the stove and the inedible food that was cooking on top. Napoleon let out a high whine and thumped his tail against the floor. "Well, if you get hungry tomorrow after school, you can always heat up some of these livers. I'm sure Napoleon will share." She threw a smile back to her daughter.

Clary rolled her eyes and smiled, knowing her mother was teasing her. "I can't stand chicken livers."

"Maybe the chicken livers can't stand you?"

Clary rolled her eyes as her mother laughed at her own joke and wandered back into her bedroom. She thought about taking her Calculus out but the thought of doing math equations on a Friday night was unbearable. She lay on her bed for a moment and wondered what she would be doing if her life had been different.

Would she be one of the popular girls out at one of those raging parties, she always heard about when she got to school after the weekend let out but was never invited to, talking to some cute guy who probably wouldn't remember her name the next day?

 _Probably not_ , Clary thought.

She couldn't picture herself in that crowd of people. She didn't have the personality or the face of one of those girls. The people, who saw the world not through the eyes of others but only themselves, who thought they were the most important thing in existence.

Her life was pretty boring. And she was nervous of everyone and any situation. Her confidence level was not a high one, but she worked with what she got. She knew she had to go out and get a job, but the thought of actually having to _talk_ to someone she was trying to impress, made her so nervous she thought she might hurl. Clary knew she lived life behind a pane of glass, but it was better that way. She could never get hurt or embarrassed; she had been ridiculed enough for her entire life. She had gotten her hopes up too many times to just be let down again.

Clary didn't know how long she sat there thinking about the failure her entire 18 years of teen existence had turned out to be before Jocelyn called out her name and Clary groaned as she rolled to her feet. Napoleon, who had come back into her room after his _disgusting_ dinner, sat up in attention as he followed after her. "What? Can't you see I'm moping?"

Her mother patted the place next to her on the couch and Clary sat down. Her mother pulled her close and cradled her head under her neck. "You are so special, Clarissa." She pulled her back and smiled at her sweetly as only a mother could. "You're going to do extraordinary things."

Clary laughed. "It's not like I'm going to save the world, Mom. What happened between yesterday, when you were yelling at me for not putting the dishes away, and right now?"

Jocelyn smiled at her daughter and pulled her close again. Kissing her forehead softly, she stroked her similar red hair, which Clary had no doubt she was getting paint all in, but didn't want her to stop. Her mother gave a sigh that vibrated through her chest to Clary's back. "Everything."

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 **Yay! Chapter 1!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, please don't make me say it again.**

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Clary let out a loud laugh. Maia pushed her face through the driver and passenger seats and Clary could see the smile on her face too.

"C'mon!" He said as Maia started laughing too, leaning into the steering wheel, causing Simon to swerve the car dangerously into the lane next to him. "None of you have ever wondered that?"

Clary shook her head, her hair swinging with her. It was beyond fixing now, she knew, after a long day of tangles and knots. She pushed her white sunglasses, given to her by Simon for a Christmas that seemed to be another lifetime ago, back up her nose as they started to fall. "No! You think the most random things!"

"You mean to tell me you never wondered why people say "heads up" when they want you to duck?" Simon repeated as Maia wiped her eyes, tears starting to gather and fall. Her black eyeliner fell under her eyes with the liquid, vanishing after she wiped her finger under each lid. "Because when I hear "heads up", I bring my head up."

Clary laughed again, starting to clench at her stomach as it started to cramp from her laughter. She turned to Maia, whose brown hair whipped around her head from the open window, breathing hard. "This is like the "Adam" thing all over again."

Simon frowned and blinked as Maia turned to them confused. "What?"

"Remember when I was reading off the "Ever Wonder" website? It asked if Adam, from the bible, ever had a belly button." Simon broke out into a smile as the memory came back to him. Maia continued to look confused as Clary spoke again. "And you actually knew the answer."

Simon held up his hands in a stopping motion. "That's only because of my mom!"

"Yeah, after you asked her that exact question when you were little. You just think odd things. It's in your nature." Clary took a couple of deep breaths to calm her laughter as Simon stopped the car at a red light, turning to his friends. His eyes colored brown with specks of blue, if you looked hard enough, were hidden behind his black wire frames.

"I am completely confused as to what you're talking about." Maia paused before looking at Simon. " _Did_ Adam have a belly button?"

"Supposedly, because he was created by God, he didn't have a belly button," Simon nodded before waving his hand in the air. "Or so my mom says."

Maia nodded, obviously satisfied, before turning back in her seat to look out the window. A small silver Honda slowly inched forward before coming to a complete stop in front of them. "Hey, if you can't drive than get off the road! What does a green light mean? Go! Thank you." Maia said as the small car inched forward, on the radio a boy band sang about beauty, before stopping again. "Why? Why are you braking? The light is green! Green means go!" Simon winced behind the wheel, Maia's road rage was bad even when she wasn't driving.

It was an autumn weekend in Brooklyn, New York; the trees turning from vibrant greens to soft yellows and angry reds. The once welcoming cool winds of summer were becoming cold, biting at any exposed skin with its harsh chill. Clary sat with her friends, Simon Lewis and Maia Roberts, (Simon being her best friend) as they drove out to the mall. Each teen was wrapped in a heavy coat and jeans, varying on color and style; Maia wore black leather pants, Simon had on ripped skinny jeans (that Clary had begged him to throw away) and Clary wore pain ole' blue jeans. The cold wind outside frosted the car's windows. She shivered as the wind that blew behind her seemed to slip into any open crevasse of her coat. Though the sun was shining brightly through the front windshield, it did nothing to warm her as more cold air charged through the open window. The same window Maia had insisted they leave open because she was over-heating.

It was a Saturday and the start of the Thanksgiving break, which was only a three day break for the college kids on her campus but Clary took what she could get. They were on their way to a specific department store for Maia, who had finally gotten a "free underwear" coupon in the mail and was determined to use it.

Clary hopped out of the front seat and her black boots, which she had shoved her flared jeans into, crunched on top of an abandoned coffee container. She winced, scared some of the liquid got on her shoes before rushing forward to walk alongside Simon and Maia toward the mall entrance.

She curled the collar of her green trench coat up around her neck and huddled in her brown plaid scarf; it was brutally cold for autumn. Her long red hair blew wildly in the shrieking wind and she pulled the knot of her tied coat tighter against her. The black beanie that she stole from Simon (and totally didn't go with the color of her scarf at all) wasn't helping her ears stay warm but she liked the hat all the same anyway. She pulled it down lower on her head as the wind started to tear it off.

Getting to the front doors of the mall was a blessing as Clary rushed to open it for an elderly woman, who looked to be struggling with her purchases. "Would you like some help?" Clary asked as nicely as she could.

The elderly woman brushed her off with a shake of her head. "No. But thank you."

Clary gave her a forced, pleasant smile and rushed into the heated mall. She rubbed her gloved hands together to get her blood flowing and her circulation back, as she rushed toward her waiting friends.

Simon and Maia were in deep conversation about their shared job at Taco Bell and how their coworkers were "unbelievable" as she gazed around her in silence. An attractive couple walked up and Clary couldn't help how her eyes followed them. Their hands locked around each other's, fingers entwined. Both were laughing as if they were the only two people in the world.

Clary felt a stab of envy for them. It wasn't that she was boy crazy as some of the people in her, so small it should really be considered an elementary school, community college were; in fact Clary really hadn't had a crush that lasted more than a week. She just wasn't that type of girl. But she couldn't help the feeling that she was missing out on something. How would it feel to have someone look at you and only you? To know they felt for you what you did for them and all you had to do was look into their eyes? What would it feel like to belong to someone and be confident that they belonged to you? To be in love?

She sighed and looked at herself in the reflection of the passing shop window. Simon and Maia shared a laugh just to her left as Clary abruptly turned forward again.

She wasn't hard to look at, Clary supposed. She didn't have plump lips and tousled to perfection curls hair like Maia or lush lashes like Simon (why did guys always get the best eye lashes? It just wasn't fair). She had the perfect face of someone who was made to be invisible. She wasn't a show stopper but, then again, she wasn't a complete troll either. She was plain and boring, she knew that. She accepted that. She didn't think of different ways to wear her clothes like Maia. She usually just stuck to jeans and a top, nothing flashy or attention getting.

Her make-up was lacking and sometimes she didn't even bother at all. Maia always had her eyes lined with black eyeliner; she alternated on putting mascara on her lashes though they really didn't need them. Clary didn't see the point in herself wearing anything like that. At one point she had, but not anymore. People put on make-up to enhance their already beautiful features, Clary never looked any better with it on. The thought had depressed her so much; she had stopped all together and just stuck with mascara or nothing at all. She claimed it was because she liked the more natural look, it was the only half-truthful excuse she could think of.

Clary knew she wasn't really pretty, but standing next to Maia only made that fact more prominent. She had moderate lips, a strong nose that covered a good portion of her face and a knobby chin that a boy from school had once said reminded him of a Halloween witch (after that comment Clary had let herself have a good cry upon arriving home). And sometimes, when her hair was up her eyes seemed closer together. Everyone said it was all in her head but she knew that her eyes totally looked nearer to each other when she threw her hair up, no doubt about it.

But Clary understood that. She had come to an understanding that she was meant to be plain. She wasn't one of the heroine's in the books she always read that got the gorgeous guy and never thought she was pretty but really, in the end, finds out she's beautiful. No matter how hard Clary wished she could be one of those heroines, fairytales were just that. Tall tales that never actually came true, that's why they were fairytales.

It was sort of like love. In truth, Clary didn't really believe love existed. Sure, she squealed at the cute boy who walked by with her friends. But she never actually believed in love. Clary bit her lip for a moment; well she supposed she shouldn't say love didn't exist at all, because the love between family and friends she believed in. She would have done anything for Simon, she was sure of that. But true love, unconditional love, that was all made up and fabricated talk. Unconditional love was meant for the feeble minded and love struck. Clary was simply a realist, not a romanticist. She didn't sugar coat the truth with herself, she was honest and real. True love between people didn't exist. It was just another part of a fairytale. To love someone unconditionally you had to be able to give up everything, people now-a-days couldn't even bare to give up their phones for an hour let alone everything. Simon's Aunt Darla said it was because of Clary's parents' marriage that she felt this way and she couldn't say she totally disagreed.

Jocelyn Fray never made a lot of mistakes in her life, in fact she truly only made one. She lived her whole life excelling at everything she did and perfecting any job she was given. That was just the way her mother was. She had only made one mistake; a truly horrible mistake. She made it when she thought she fell in love with Valentine Morgenstern. He had swept her off her feet with lies and deception all in the pretense that he loved and cared.

"Clary?"

"Hmm?" Clary turned her head toward Simon and almost tripped forward as the toe of her boot caught on the floor. She pushed her red hair out of her face as she looked at them. "What?"

"You were in one of your trances again. Where you stare, really intensely, at nothing." Simon mimicked her face, making his eyes exaggeratingly big and stared. He leaned toward Clary's face for affect as she pushed him away. Clary rolled her eyes and turned into the store of choice before they could pester her more. Knowing that, in truth, it wasn't their fault for her change of mood.

"Someone's being a little dramatic."

Clary didn't know which one spoke as she walked through the store toward the section where Maia's coupon could be used. Clary knew she had a short temper, but they had a way of getting under her skin. Especially Simon, that boy knew just what buttons to push to make Clary scream.

"God, I wish I wasn't so ugly." Maia said before flipping her head down and fluffing her hair. Simon rolled his eyes and muttered something like "girls" under his breath while half-heartedly shaking his head before his cheeks grew red at all the lingerie around the room.

Clary felt a stab of anger roll through her. She loved Maia but she wished she would look in the mirror and actually _see_ herself. If she could look like her, she would have been proud. If Maia thought she was ugly, what was she? Hideous? Grisly? Appalling? Unprepossessing?

Clary sighed, deep and noisy. Her father had told her of her worth long ago. She wasn't worth anything, no one as plain as she was anyway.

 _"Sometimes, I look at you and I wonder what the hell I could have done to deserve something like you."_

Clary felt a deep sadness in her heart as she remembered his face twisted with disgust, like she had been road kill he had accidentally stepped in; like she was worth nothing but dirt.

"And there she goes again." Clary blinked and focused on Maia, who stepped beside her to shuffle through her choices. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Clary."

Before she could reply with something she hoped would be sarcastic and borderline mean, Simon's phone began to ring. He seemed relieved at the distraction as he pulled the phone hastily from his pocket. "It's Eric, it might be something about the band."

He didn't wait from them to answer as he backed out of the store. Vaguely Clary could make out part of his opening sentence. "Hey, man." He paused a moment. "Shopping with Clary and Maia at, you know, the mall." He voice dropped lower and Clary could see him blush another tone of red even from where she stood a few paces away. "Yeah, it's the underwear store. . ."

Clary snickered before she leaned against the underwear stand and propped her leg up. Maia continued to shuffle through the undergarments as Clary crossed her arms. Wanting to get her head out of the storm clouds, she addressed the coupon in Maia's hand, which was now folded and wrinkled, with a head gesture. "So why all the excitement over a free coupon?"

Maia didn't look up as she answered. "What is my gold rule?" Clary hated it when people answered questions with other questions.

"Never throw food away?"

"My other golden rule." Clary thought for a moment but nothing seemed to jump out in her mind.

"You have another golden rule?" Clary said frowning. Wasn't the point of having a gold rule to show it was the most important rule and therefore only one?

Maia turned her head and gave her an annoyed look. She brushed the bangs out of her face and said, "Never turn down anything free!"

Clary paused for a moment, her earlier comment completely ignored, before smiling. "What about a free punch to the face?"

Maia didn't glance at her mocking friend as she looked back at the products in front of her. "You don't turn it down; you simply give it to someone else."

Clary laughed out loud as she shook her head. "You have to accept it to give it to someone else."

"Not exactly."

"You're so weird."

Maia held up a finger. "That was unnecessarily mean. Not weird, innovative. Why do you think I work at Taco Bell? For the uniform?" She made a disgusted grunt and shook her head. Her hair shined off the lights overhead. "It's because I think outside the bun."

That got another laugh out of Clary as Simon appeared. His face was twisted in an irked way and Clary knew that the conversation on the phone had not gone the way he wanted. "I have to go. Supposedly, we have to say goodbye to Brittany face-to-face because something terrible could happen and there's a possibility we'll never see each other again." He rolled his eyes as he stood with his arms crossed.

Clary bit her lip with a smile. "Isn't Brittany Eric's girlfriend—"

"His third girlfriend," Simon said through clenched teeth. "And that's just this week!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "I don't even know Brittany! Why do I have to say goodbye to her? I don't care if I never see her again!"

"But it matters. . ."

"To Eric, yeah." Simon said with a deep sigh.

"So? Does that mean we're leaving?" Clary asked as Simon shrugged.

"It means I have to go but you guys don't. You'll have to find your own way home though." He winced obviously feeling bad as Clary put a hand to his shoulder.

"Well, now I feel pressured." Maia said with a hurried look.

Clary frowned and uncrossed her arms. The store's lights were making her hot under her trench coat and she didn't want to start sweating. "How? It's just underwear. It's not like anyone's going to see it but you. Unless you're having a secret rendezvous with Bat." Clary teased her as Maia blushed. Simon laughed with her as Maia narrowed her eyes.

Bat was known as the campus "bad boy" but that wasn't really saying much because there weren't a lot of people on the campus in the first place. Maia and Bat were an on/off then on then off again thing that she refused to admit but everyone knew about.

"Okay, one: ew. And two: it's the principle of the thing."

Clary shrugged. "It's just underwear." She repeated.

Maia turned to her wide eyed. Her deep chestnut brown eyes looked like gleaming crystals as each iris reflected off the overhead lights. "Just underwear? Just underwear!" She shook her head and gave a disgusted snort. "I'm sickened with myself that I am friends with you." Clary smiled and rolled her eyes as she met Simon's gaze. Maia sighed before turning to the two. "You guys go. I'm perfectly capable of using the subway or catching a cab."

"You sure?" Simon questioned with a frown Clary nodded beside him.

"Yeah, we don't want to leave you here all alone. I could stay if you like." Clary added to be helpful.

Maia laughed with a throw of her head. "Yeah and separate you and Simon? As if it were possible." She shrugged before stealing a glance at Simon before turning her attention back to Clary. "Besides, I'm sure Eric wants you to say goodbye to this Brianna chick too-"

"It's actually Brittany-"

"But Simon just didn't mention it for my sake."

Simon had the decency to blush at Maia's words as he rubbed the back of his neck. "He might have said something about wanting Clary there too. . ."

Clary rolled her eyes, the duo had met Eric in their sophomore year of high school and he had been just around ever since. Clary always had a suspicion that he wanted to be as close to them as she and Simon were but it just never seemed to stick. Still he was a good friend, crazy but good, and they tended to indulge him on his silly ideas. Like this one for example.

"Alright, well let us know if you end up needing a ride." Clary said as she wrapped her arms around Maia's lithe body.

"I'll let you know but I might be here awhile." Maia lifted her head and gave both teens a dazzling smile. "You can't rush these things, you know. They take time."

"No, with you, these things take years." The teen boy joked while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"And we're back to what I just said before," Maia looked at Simon before making a face and sticking out her tongue. "Time."

Clary smiled at them a moment wondering if they knew they were unwittingly flirting with each other. She smiled a moment giving them there space before walking, with quick and careful steps toward the entrance of the store. It wasn't until three to five minutes later Simon stumbled out of the store as well. He almost hurriedly looked for her before locking eyes and walking toward her.

Clary smiled knowingly. "Couldn't stand to be alone for that long?"

Simon frowned picking up on her teasing tone immediately. "You know I don't like to be alone for long, I have abandonment issues."

Clary laughed as he grinned at her. "I know, you start to decompose.

"Finally someone gets it." Simon laughed before he groaned at the ringing of his phone. "Eric, we're coming!" He hung up as quick as he answered as he half pulled half dragged Clary by her hand toward the exit of the mall.

"I'm kind of surprised your mom hasn't called yet." Simon said as they pushed through the doors into the cold. "She usually calls like once or twice or like 300 times a day."

Clary blinked at her phone confused before letting out a giggle. "Yeah, you're right. I'm kind of surprised myself." She paused a moment, the wind pushing her hat as she went to grab it. "Maybe I should call-"

"No way! Don't test your luck, Fray." Simon said with a shake of his head. "Ever heard the expression: "don't look a gift donkey in the mouth"?"

Clary tried to raise an eyebrow for a moment before giving up and lifting both. "No, I haven't."

"Oh, it's a pretty popular saying-"

"Mostly because the expression is "don't look a gift _horse_ in the mouth"." Clary said with a condescending expression accompanied by a small smirk.

Simon blinked a moment at her before blushing again. "It's practically the same thing."

Clary laughed as she shook her head and getting into Simon's tacky and overzealously designed van. She really had to paint over the sexy aliens and mermaids soon. "No, it's really not."

Anything Simon could have said was cut off by the sound of Clary's iPhone ringing. Simon smirked like he had got the last word. "Speak of the devil. . ."

Clary rolled her eyes and fished her phone out of her pocket before looking at the caller. A picture of her mother on Christmas took up the screen. She had been getting ready, curlers were rolled in her red hair and she was leaning over Napoleon, who was a puppy at the time, as he was leaning up to lick her face. Her mother's smile was big and beautiful, Clary loved the picture. It was her absolute favorite of all she owned. She pushed the 'TALK' button and pressed the phone to her ear. "Hey, Mom. Don't worry—"

"Clarissa! Honey, I need you to listen to me." Her mother's voice sounded frantic and she was making a rustling noise into the phone as if she was breathing heavily into the mouth piece.

"Mom?" Clary shot a look at Simon, who looked confused and concerned as he climbed into the van and sat close to Clary putting his ear up to the phone too. "Mom, what's going on? Are you okay—"

"Listen! Clarissa, you can't go home. Do you understand? Go to Luke's or Simon's but do not, by any means, go home. Promise me, Clarissa."

"Mom, you're scaring me." Clary's voice wavered as fear squeezed her stomach into knots. "Mom, are you in trouble? What's going on—"

"Clarissa! Promise me."

"I promise, Mom." Clary said as her heart beat started to increase and her breathing sped up. Simon looked wide eyed next to her, too stunned to speak which never happened to him. His big brown eyes showed the same fear that Clary felt shifting in her stomach.

"Clarissa, baby, remember that I love you—" Her mother's voice was cut off as the phone made loud static sounds as if someone was struggling on the other side and noises that sounded like growling and barking played in her ears too. A popping sound followed as if the phone had been dropped.

"Mom!" Clary yelled into the phone. People were glancing at them in the parking complex but no one made any move to ask if they needed help. They probably thought she was just a dramatic teenager, yelling at an unfair parent through the phone. But Clary wasn't angry, she was in panic.

Because the last thing her mother said had sounded like a goodbye.

The static continued for another moment before there was a dead silence. Clary glanced quickly at her phone to see if the call had ended but the seconds were still being counted.

00:03:41

00:03:42

00:03:43

Clary watched as the seconds continued. "Mom?"

For a moment Clary's voice was only met with a silence that was so tangible, she would have gotten ensnarled in it if she had tried to walk through it. Her heart was beating much too fast to be safe and her palms were sweating, beside her Simon was breathing heavily too. The suspense hung above them like a weight as they both waited for the reply.

Clary's stomach dropped to the floor.

* * *

 **And so the drama begins! Who was the captor from the prologue? Who took Clary's mom? Will she ever paint over the sexy aliens and mermaids on Simon's van? Will they ever say goodbye to Brittany?!**

 **Haha some of those questions are more important than others.**

 **Find out next time!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, please don't make me say it again.**

* * *

It had to be a dream. A really bad dream that she was going to wake up from in only a few moments. She stared at her phone as the second's clicked by and somewhere in Clary's mind a clock was ticking with every second that passed.

00:04:34

4 minutes ago her mother had been on the phone. She had told her that she loved her and that she had to remember it. Clary's heart skipped a beat and she licked her dried lips. To say she was in shock would be an understatement. She was past shock, she was going into panic.

Because what her mother said had sounded a lot like a goodbye.

The click of the phone locked her fate as if it was a judge and she was the convicted. She didn't understand what was going on. Everything had happened so fast, hadn't she just talked to her mother? It seemed like years now, not just merely minutes. Her mind was trying to make sense of the situation but she couldn't really hear it over the loud beating of her heart.

Simon was breathing in fast puffs beside her as he turned his fearful gaze to Clary. "That was a joke, right? We're being Punk'd, right?" He smiled hesitantly and laughed a little. People were glancing at Simon as if he were nuts as the boy looked around the area; hysteria had set in as Simon pulled at his hair. "Right? Right? This is crazy! It can't be real!"

Clary blinked a moment not entirely sure what to tell her best friend. All she knew was that she felt scared and alone.

 _"Listen! Clarissa, you can't go home. Do you understand? Go to Luke's or Simon's but do not, by any means, go home. Promise me, Clarissa."_

Her mother had known. Whatever was happening, her mother had seen it coming and had known. Whoever had Jocelyn was coming for her.

Clary grabbed her best friend's shoulders and leveled her frantic green eyes with his brown ones. She tried to sound as calm as she could but, it was a move made in vain, her voice shook with her hands. "You have to take me home. Right now!" Clary said, forgetting all about her panic and fear driven promise.

Simon nodded in panic and threw the van in reverse. Her heart felt like ice and each beat seemed to be costing her more than the next. There was a deep pain inside her, like a part of her had been ripped out. Emptiness settled in her soul. All she had left was her mother and now the truth of the matter was that she didn't have her mother anymore. She had never felt so completely and utterly alone.

* * *

Clary threw the van door open and ran for her front door, Simon hot on her heels. He had driven like a mad man, weaving around traffic and in that moment, Clary never loved him more. The 30 minute car ride only took 10 as they halted at the front door.

Clary stood staring at it with big eyes; the door was ajar, like her mother had opened it and forgot to close it. But that was something her mother never did, she was always getting mad at Clary for not locking the door after she came home late from Simon's or Luke's. That brought another thought to Clary's head, what if this was all her fault?

What if she had forgotten to lock the door after she had left for Simon's this morning and the intruder had gotten in and waited for them to get home. Her mother had just been the first one on the scene. What if he was still in there?

"Listen! Clarissa, you can't go home. Do you understand? Go to Callie's or Summer's but do not, by any means, go home. Promise me, Clarissa."

Her mother's frantic voice played in her head again bu`t Clary didn't pay attention as she pushed the door open. She stared at the steps that lead to the upstairs and ran up them fast. She stopped in the main room and looked around. The drawers her mother had just recently painted were still lying around and on the table sat a glass that was dripping with condensation.

She looked in her mother's room to see the bed nicely made and her dresser nice and clean. Nothing looked out of the ordinary but something was. Something about the whole thing wasn't right, like this was all a façade; truthful words spoken out of the mouth of a liar. Something she could see but couldn't touch.

"Mom?"

Clary ran in circles for a moment. "Mom?!"

"MOM!"

"Mrs. Fray? Mrs. Fray!"

Clary listened as Simon called to her mother, but Clary knew she wasn't here. She didn't how she was so certain; it wasn't just the frantic call but something else entirely. Like her heart knew somehow. The bond between a mother and daughter, was one of the strongest ever known but was it strong enough?

"Where could she have gone?" Simon said in a rush. "Who could have took her? Did she say anything in particular on the phone. . ."

Clary ignored Simon as she turned to the scratching and whining coming from her own room. She carefully opened the door as if some sort of creature was going to come out. She only managed to open it for a crack before a dart of black fur rushed through, it moved like a bolt of black lightning. Napoleon yelped and ran in flurry around the room. He barked in a frenzy before licking at Clary's ankles.

"Oh, Napoleon," Clary dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her dog, he seemed to move closer to her and whined in her ear.

Clary stood slowly and wandered back into the living room before stopping dead in her tracks. Her heart plummeted to her feet and her eyes widened in fear. Because seeing it, made the whole situation more real somehow; as if Clary was getting by thinking this was a dream and now seeing this, she had to wake up and face facts.

Her mother was gone and this was proof.

Because in the middle of the living room, lying on the floor as if Jocelyn had simply set it on the couch and it had just dropped, was her cell phone. The same phone that had been placed on her mother's skin as her voice had shaken in panic. That phone had seen what happened up close, it had seen the struggle that Clary knew had taken place though it certainly didn't look like it had. It had seen her mother's face as she fought; it had heard Clary tell a promise she had no intention of ever keeping.

Napoleon whined again curling his body around the phone, not daring to touch it.

That phone had seen the person who did this. Clary, for the first time ever, wished objects could speak.

A hand was placed on her shoulder but Clary remained still, her eyes never leaving that small phone that was haphazardly laying on the floor. "Maybe, she's just kidding…" Simon who had his hand on her shoulder, said. "It doesn't look like there was a struggle." Simon added as Clary narrowed her eyes at him.

"I know what I heard. My mom wouldn't joke like this." Clary said, "You heard it yourself, Simon!"

Simon grabbed Clary's sweating palm with his own sweaty hand and held on tight. It was only when he did that, that Clary turned her gaze away from the phone and to their joined hands. She couldn't remember the last time someone had held her hand. Really held it, squeezing onto her fingers like they couldn't bare to let go. She couldn't remember the last time she had needed it more.

Simon sighed his earlier hysteria on hold when he saw the look on her face. He placed his lips upon her cheek softly. "Well, there's nothing we can do but call the police and let them handle this."

Clary nodded absentmindedly. She could feel the teen staring at the side of her head like he wanted her to say something. But Clary had nothing to say, because none of this could have possibly been real. "Let's go home." He squeezed Clary's hand. "All of us." Simon kneeled and pet the black dog behind the ears.

Clary felt herself nod though she couldn't remember telling her body to do it. It felt as if her soul had left her and she was just looking on. She felt like a puppet being tugged by a string, a person just going through the motions.

She wanted to tell him she was home. But not even she could lie like that now; she turned to the picture framed on the wall.

 **Home is where the heart is.**

Clary felt a tug at her heart as she remembered her mother putting that picture on the wall. She could still see her smiling as if she was right there hanging it up.

 _"Now, we have officially made this place our own." Jocelyn stood back and crossed her arms. She bumped hips with Clary with a laugh._

Clary had never really thought about the meaning to those words until now. She didn't think about the intensity that they held. Or how absolutely true every word was, because as she followed Simon out the door of the condo, she knew she couldn't call it her home.

Not anymore.

* * *

"Okay, can you retell the story for me, Clarissa?" A man stood before her, his hair was dark and curling around the collar of his police uniform.

When they had gotten to Simon's house, Simon had immediately started retelling the story to his mother and sister, Elaine and Rebecca, who had thrown concerned looks Clary's way and made gasps and screams in astonishment. They had told her she could stay as long as she needed and gave her a hug. She couldn't feel their warmth though they were offering it to her without asking for anything in return, she was too cold. She didn't know if she would ever be warm again as the ice piled in her veins.

They had called the police right afterwards and a dispatcher had come to the door within minutes. At first glance you wouldn't have thought he was a cop, with a handsome face and toned arms, he looked about 40 or so but still in shape for his age. His face showed small signs of age, from the slight crow's feet at the corner of his eyes to the small wrinkles in his forehead. He was pale, like a white sheet, and wore just his uniform though it was freezing outside. Or maybe that was just Clary's thoughts.

He had smiled at Simon's family somewhat falsely, though how could you smile a true smile knowing that there was a serious trauma at hand. He shook each of their hands and said his name. "I'm deputy Michael Wayland. You all can just all me Michael or Mike if you'd like."

He had asked what had happened and Simon relayed the story to him again, as they all sat in the living room. He nodded and glanced down at his notebook, as if he wasn't interested, but when he repeated everything Simon said Clary knew that he was paying close attention.

Then he had asked to speak with Clary alone and she had silently gotten up and went with him to the kitchen.

That's where they were now, with Michael staring at her expectantly. But the thing was Clary hadn't told the story yet. Simon had been doing that job for her, and she had been happy about it. Because telling the story, would be admitting that it happened. Relaying the story would be confirming what had been done and there was no going back after that. Clary would have to come to terms with the absolute truth. That this wasn't a dream, that this was all painfully real.

Her mother was gone.

And so Clary took a breath and opened her mouth.

But the words wouldn't come.

* * *

 **We all knew Clary was totally gonna run home!**


End file.
